“And do what?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you just ran away, half-cocked, with barely an idea of what to do.”
I said, “That sounds about right” and “Can you say my name?” and “I know this isn’t real, I know it’s just a dream, but please just say my name.”
And there, in the warm sunlight, he said, “Carter. Carter. Carter.”
I reached for him.
He wasn’t there.
I OPENED MY EYES.
A ceiling fan spun lazily.
I sat up with a groan, my head foggy.
A piece of paper fluttered in my lap.
I picked it up. There, in sharp script, were the words:
Your wolfsong will always be heard xx
THE SHOP LOOKED AS IF it’d been empty for a long time. A thick layer of dust covered the counter. The shelves were bare. The bones were gone.
There was a placard in the window where the neon sign had been.
FOR RENT, it said, followed by the name of a realty company and a phone number.
THE TRUCK WAS WHERE I’D LEFT IT in the parking lot.
A slip of paper lay underneath the windshield wiper. I thought it was a ticket.
It wasn’t.
As I got closer, I knew.
It was wild, the scent. Like an old forest untouched by man, overgrown and thick.
I recognized it.
Don’t. Touch. Him.
I rushed forward and grabbed the paper, almost tearing it as I opened it.
ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?
“Fuck you too,” I said in a choked whisper.
But I was smiling.
And for a moment, it felt like it was enough.
better candy/need to stop
Five months later I was barely holding on.